Her face was all gray, her jaw clenched, and she was drenched in a cold sweat.
“Take her into Montereale to see a doctor,” Montalbano said to Guido. “You, Livia, go with them.”
Having laid Laura down on the backseat of the car with her head on Livia’s lap, Guido shot away at a speed that had even Gallo looking on in admiration. The inspector and Gallo then returned to the living room.
“Now that they’re out of our hair,” Montalbano said to him,“let’s try to do something sensible. And the first sensible thing would be to put on our bathing suits. Otherwise, in this heat, we’ll never manage to think clearly.”
“I haven’t got mine with me, Chief.”
“Me neither. But Guido’s got three or four.”
They found them and put them on. Luckily they were elastic; otherwise the inspector would have needed suspenders and Gallo would have been charged with indecent exposure.
“Now, here’s what we’ll do.About ten yards past the little gate, there’s a stone staircase that leads down to the beach. It’s the only place, based on what I could gather from their confused story, where they didn’t look closely, I think. I want you to go all the way down, but stop at every step. The kid may have fallen and rolled into some crevice in the rock.”
“And what are you going to do, Chief ?”
“I’m going to make friends with the cat.”
Gallo looked at him dumbfounded, and went out.
“Ruggero!” the inspector called. “What a fine kitty you are! Ruggero!”
The cat rolled onto his back with his paws in the air. Montalbano tickled his belly.
“Prrrrrr . . .” said Ruggero.
“What do you say we go see what’s in the fridge?” the inspector asked him, heading towards the kitchen.
Ruggero, who seemed not to object to the suggestion, followed him, and as Montalbano opened the refrigerator and pulled out two fresh anchovies, the cat rubbed against his legs, lightly butting his head.
The inspector took a paper plate, put the anchovies on it, set it down on the floor, waited for the cat to finish eating, then went outside onto the terrace. Ruggero, as he’d expected, came following after him. He headed towards the staircase, in time to see Gallo’s head appear.
“Absolutely nothing, Chief. I could swear that the kid didn’t go down these stairs.”
“So, in your opinion, there’s no way he could have gone down to the beach and into the water?”
“Chief, if I’ve understood correctly, the kid is three years old. He couldn’t have done it even if he was running.”
“So maybe we ought to do a better search of the surrounding area.There’s no other explanation.”
“Chief, what do you say we call the station and have a couple more men come for support?”
Gallo’s sweat was dripping down to his feet.
“Let’s wait just a little longer. Meanwhile, go cool yourself off.There’s a hose in front of the house.”
“But you yourself should put something on your head. Wait.”
He went out on the terrace, where various beach accoutrements were scattered, and returned with Livia’s hat, which was pink with a floral pattern.
“Here, put this on. What do you care? Nobody can see you here.”
As Gallo went off, Montalbano noticed Ruggero was no longer with him. He went back into the house, to the kitchen, and called. No cat.
If he wasn’t there licking the plate that had held the anchovies, then where could he have gone?
From what Laura and Guido had told him, he knew that the cat and the kid had become inseparable. Bruno, in fact, had made such a fuss, screaming and crying, that he’d succeeding in getting permission to have the cat sleep in his bed.
That was why Montalbano had made friends with Ruggero. He had a hunch that the cat knew exactly where the kid was.
And now, as he stood in the kitchen, it occurred to him that the cat had disappeared again because he’d gone back to see Bruno, to keep him company.
“Gallo!”
Gallo immediately appeared, getting water all over the floor.
“Your orders, Chief ?”
“Listen, look in every room to see if the cat is in it.When you’re sure he’s not, close the window and door to that room, and do the same with the rest. We have to be sure the cat is nowhere in the house, and we have to prevent him from having any way to get back inside.”
Gallo looked completely befuddled. Weren’t they looking for a missing kid? Why had the inspector become so fixated on this cat?
“Excuse me, Chief, but what’s the animal got to do with it?”
“Just do as I say. And leave only the front door open.”
Gallo began his search, Montalbano went out through the little gate, walked to the edge of the cliff, which plunged straight down to the beach, then turned around to look at the house from that distance.
He studied it long and hard, until he became convinced that what he was seeing was not just an impression. Ever so imperceptibly, by only a few millimeters, the entire house listed to the left. It must certainly be the result of the ground’s having shifted a few days earlier, causing the living room floor to crack and subsequently releasing the various invasions of cockroaches, mice, and spiders.
He went back to the terrace, grabbed a ball that Bruno had left on one of the deck chairs, and set it down on the ground. Slowly, the ball began to roll towards the little wall on the left.
It was the proof he was looking for.Which might explain everything or nothing at all.
Going back out through the little gate, he walked until he was far enough away to study the right side this time. All the windows on that wall were closed, which meant that Gallo had finished doing what he was supposed to do on that side. Montalbano saw nothing unusual.
Then he headed behind the house, where the entrance and the parking area were. The front door was open, as he’d told Gallo to leave it. Nothing out of the ordinary there.
He resumed walking until he could get a good look at the other side, the one where the house listed a little.The tilt was almost invisible. One of the two windows was closed, while the other was still open.
“Gallo!”
Gallo popped his head out.
“See anything?”
“This is the smaller bathroom. I’m done. The cat’s not here. That leaves only the living room. Can I shut this window?”
As Gallo was closing the window, Montalbano noticed that the gutter above the window had broken, leaving a gap at least three fingers wide. It must have been an old problem that had never been fixed.
When it rained, all the rainwater poured out at that spot instead of going into the pipe that channeled it towards a well to one side of the terrace. To prevent a gigantic puddle from forming on the ground below and staining the wall of the house with humidity, somebody had put a big metal drum underneath it, one of those used for storing pitch.
Montalbano noticed, however, that the drum had been moved and was no longer perpendicular to the break in the gutter. It now stood at least three feet away from the wall.
If the water could no longer fall straight into the drum, Montalbano reasoned, then there should be a great big puddle here, a lake, since it had rained so hard over the last two days. Instead there was nothing.What was the explanation?
He felt a kind of electric shock, ever so slight, run down his spine.This usually happened to him when he was on the right track. He went up to the drum.There was, in fact, a bit of water in it, but not as much as there should have been, and it had certainly fallen there directly from the sky.
At that moment he noticed that the water pouring out of the gap in the gutter for two days and one night had carved out a veritable pit at the foot of the wall.
It was impossible at first to tell why the drum blocked it from view.
The pit had a circumference of about three feet. In all likelihood the surface of friable earth covering some sort of underground cavity had given w
ay under the force of the water falling from above.
Montalbano removed Livia’s hat, threw himself down flat on the ground, with his face practically inside the pit. Then he moved onto his side and stuck his arm into the opening, without, however, managing to touch the bottom. He realized that the pit did not descend vertically, but slantwise, along a sort of gentle incline.
He felt absolutely certain—and couldn’t say why—that the kid had slipped into that pit and was no longer able to climb back out.
He stood up, ran wildly into the house, into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, grabbed the platter full of anchovies, returned to the pit, knelt down, and began placing the anchovies one by one around the entrance.
At that moment Gallo arrived and saw the inspector—who, in the meantime, had put Livia’s pink hat back on—sitting on the ground, his chest and arms soiled with dirt, staring intently at a hole in the ground ringed with anchovies.
He staggered, at a loss, stunned by the suspicion that his superior had gone out of his mind.What should he do? Humor him, the way one does with crazy people, to keep them calm?
“That’s a really nice hole there, with all those anchovies around it,” he said with an admiring smile, as if he were gazing at a work of modern art.
Montalbano gestured imperiously for him to shut up. Gallo fell silent, afraid the inspector, in his madness, might turn violent.
3
Five minutes later, they were both sitting there motionless. Gallo, too, had taken to staring, spellbound, at the anchovy-adorned pit, having caught the infectious intensity with which Montalbano kept his eye on it.
They looked as if sight was the only sense they had working, as if they’d turned all the other ones off and didn’t hear the breath of the sea or smell the scent of a jasmine plant near the terrace.
Then, after what seemed to them like an eternity, out of the pit popped the head of Ruggero. He looked at Montalbano, uttered a mrrrow of thanks, and attacked the first anchovy.
“Holy shit!” exclaimed Gallo, having finally understood.
“I would bet my family jewels,” said Montalbano, standing up, “that the kid is down there.”
“Let’s go find a shovel!” said Gallo.
“Don’t be an idiot. The ground is so soft, it won’t take but a minute to make it cave in.”
“What’ll we do?”
“You stay here and watch what the cat does. I’m gonna go call Fazio from the car.”
“Fazio?”
“At your service, Chief.”
“Listen, I’m with Gallo in the Pizzo district, at Montereale Marina.”
“I know the place.”
“There’s a little kid, the son of some friends, who I think has fallen into a deep sort of pit in the ground and can’t get out.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“No. Call the fire chief of Montelusa.This is their sort of thing. Tell him the ground is very friable, and they should bring proper tools for digging and shoring up the walls.And, most importantly, no sirens, no noise at all. I don’t want the media finding out. I don’t want another Vermicino.”
“Should I come, too?”
“No, there’s no need.”
He went into the house and called Livia’s cell phone from the telephone in the living room.
“How’s Laura doing?”
“She’s asleep. They gave her a shot of tranquilizer. We were just getting into the car.What about Bruno?”
“I think I’ve located the spot where he is.”
“Oh, God! What does that mean?”
“It means he fell into a pit where he can’t get out.”
“But . . . is he alive?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.The firemen will be here soon. When the hospital discharges Laura, take her to our place in Marinella. I don’t want her here. Guido can come, if he wants.”
“Keep me informed. I mean it.”
He went back to Gallo, who hadn’t moved.
“What did the cat do?”
“He ate all the anchovies and went into the house. Didn’t you see him?”
“No. He must have gone into the kitchen to drink a little water.”
Montalbano had noticed some time ago that he didn’t hear as well as he used to. Nothing serious, but his hearing, like his vision, had dimmed. His ears used to be so keen he could hear the grass growing. Damned age!
“How’s your hearing?” he asked Gallo.
“I got sharp ears, Chief.”
“Try and see if you can hear anything.”
Gallo lay flat on the ground, belly down, and stuck his head inside the pit.
“I think I heard something.”
He covered his ears with his hands, took a deep breath, lowered his hands, then stuck his head into the pit again. Less than a minute later, he raised it and turned to look at Montalbano, a contented expression on his face.
“I heard him crying. I’m sure of it. He may’ve hurt himself when he fell. But it sounded really, really far away. How deep is this pit?”
“Well, injured or not, at least we know he’s alive. And that’s very good news.”
At that moment Ruggero reappeared, said mrrrow, blithely hopped into the hole, and disappeared.
“He went to visit him,” said the inspector.
Gallo made as if to get up, but Montalbano held him back.
“Wait a minute,” he said.“Try and see if you can still hear the kid crying.”
Gallo obeyed. He listened a long time, then said:
“No, I don’t hear anything anymore.”
“You see? Having Ruggero there comforts him.”
“What do we do now?”
“Now I’m going into the kitchen to have myself a beer. You want one, too?”
“Nah, I think I’ll have an orangeade. I saw some in the fridge.”
They felt satisfied, even though they still had a long and difficult task ahead of them trying to pull the little boy out of the hole.
Montalbano drank his bottle of beer slowly, then called Livia.
“He’s alive.”
He told her the whole story. When he’d finished, Livia asked:
“Should I tell Laura?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s going to be so easy to pull him out, and the firemen aren’t even here yet.You’d better not tell her anything yet. Is Guido still there with you?”
“No, he drove us to Marinella and now is on his way back to you.”
One could immediately tell that the captain of the six-man squad of firemen was someone who knew how to do his job. Montalbano explained to him what he thought had happened, mentioned the shift in the ground that had occurred several days earlier, and told him of his impression that the house was listing slightly.The captain pulled out a spirit level and a plumb line and checked.
“You’re right,” he said. “It’s listing.”
Then he got down to work. First he tested the ground around the house with a sort of steel-tipped stick, then he looked around inside the house, stopping to examine the crack in the living room floor through which the cockroaches had entered, then he came back outside. He stuck a sort of flexible metal measuring tape into the pit, let it play out a long way, then rewound it, stuck it back in, then rewound it again. He was trying to find out how deep the pit might be.
“There’s a sort of inclined plane in there,” he said after doing some math, “which begins almost directly under the smaller bathroom window and ends under the window of the bedroom, about twenty feet down.”
“You mean the depression runs the full length of this side of the house?” asked Guido.
“Exactly,” said the fire chief. “Which is a very strange path for it to follow.”
“Why?” asked Montalbano.
“Because if the depression was caused by rainwater, that means there is something underneath that diminished the water’s force of penetration, preventing it from spreading entirely through the ground and being for the most part reabsorbed
. The water came up against an obstacle, a kind of solid barrier, which forced it to follow an inclined plane.”
“Can you handle it?”
“We need to proceed with extreme caution” was the fire chief ’s reply.“Because the soil surrounding the house is different from the rest; the slightest thing could make it give way.”
“What do you mean, ‘different from the rest’?” asked Montalbano.
“Follow me,” the fire chief said.
He took some ten steps away from the house, with Montalbano and Guido following behind him.
“Look at the color of the soil here, then look how, ten yards up, near the house, it changes color. The soil we’re standing on is natural to the place; that other soil, which is lighter and yellowish, is sandy. It was brought here deliberately.”
“Why did they do that?”
“I have no idea,” said the fire chief. “Maybe to make the house stand out, make it look more elegant. Ah, finally, here comes the mechanical shovel.”
Before putting the excavator to work, however, the fire chief wanted to lighten the weight of the sandy soil lying over the path of the depression. So, shovels in hand, three firemen started digging along the side of the house, dumping the dirt into three wheelbarrows, which their colleagues then emptied about ten yards away.
After they had removed about a foot of soil, they had a surprise. At the point where the house’s foundations should have begun, there was a kind of second wall, perfectly plastered. To prevent the plaster from being damaged by humidity, sheets of plastic had been stuck to the wall to protect it.
In short, it was as if the house continued, all wrapped up, underground.
“All of you, dig down under the window of the smaller bathroom,” the fire chief ordered.
And, little by little, the upper part of another window, perfectly aligned with the one above it, began to emerge. It had no casing in it, but was only a rectangular aperture with double sheets of plastic over it.
IM10 August Heat (2008) Page 3